


Moment in Time

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Scrubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-20
Updated: 2005-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by Eurydice</p><p>A search for a stethoscope leads J.D. into an uncomfortable discussion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Irmelin

 

 

Moment in Time

For Irmelin

The thing about stethoscopes is that they're fairly easy to lose. They're like pens; you set them down somewhere, and seven seconds later, you've forgotten where that "somewhere" is. It's happened to me at least half a dozen times since I got to Sacred Heart, and every time I've found it in a different place. Once it was around the neck of the Janitor. Once it was in the vending machine. And one horrible time (that I don't really like to think about if I can help it) it was halfway down the throat of a kid named Ralphie. I don't know why he decided that my stethoscope would be a good thing to eat, and if I am very lucky, I will never ever ever find out.

At the moment, I couldn't find it. I'd put it down somewhere and it vanished, like paper clips and socks that never make it out of the dryer. Elliot didn't know where it was. Turk didn't know where it was. Neither did Carla or Nurse Roberts. I wasn't about to ask the Janitor, and so I was on a hunt. It was kind of fun, actually. I felt like I was Sherlock Holmes, searching for some improbable clue. I wished I had a monocle. Wearing a monocle, now, that's class. That's style. I always wondered why they weren't in fashion, and made a mental note to bring it up to Turk later that day.

I rounded a corner and found myself at the doorway to the room of a patient of mine who had been released earlier that day. Maybe I'd left it in there. As I started to go in to check, I heard voices coming from inside and paused.

"Did you ask Jordan?" Unmistakably Dr. Cox. I'd heard that voice call me "Newbie" or, more often, "Sheila" too many times not to recognize it.

"Yeah, I called her earlier, but she didn't really want to discuss it. Said I should ask you. Then she mighta hung up on me." This one was less familiar, but I was certain it was Ben. I grinned, unable to help myself; I hadn't seen him in awhile. To be honest, when you work in a hospital, it's better not to see your friends at work, but I missed Ben. It was nice to have someone around who could insult Dr. Cox without getting strangled.

"That's because that Jordan's... not exactly the type to get a kid christened. Probably she'd just put it on a stone altar at midnight and anoint it with the blood of a newly-slaughtered she-goat."

Ben snickered. "True. Thought I'd ask, though. I figured I'd make a pretty good godfather."

I edged my way into the room as quietly as possible. Ben and Dr. Cox were standing by the windows, looking out. Ben was leaning forward, his chin rested on his folded arms. Dr. Cox was standing straight, and there was something tense in his posture, around the shoulders, maybe. While I was puzzling over this, I spotted my stethoscope lying on a table next to the bed in the middle of the room. Oh, good. I could just get over there, grab it, and get out, no problem. They wouldn't even have to know I was there, saving Ben and Dr. Cox an interrupted conversation, and saving me the fun of being called no less than two girls' names. Everyone would be a winner. Four steps to go. Three. I was almost within arms' reach. Two-

Stupid shoelaces.

I crashed into the table, pulling it down on top of me. My stethoscope skidded across the floor, and the table itself landed lightly on my head with an audible - at least to me - clonk. I blinked dazedly, and as I did so there was a bright flash of light that added blindness to my list of temporary ailments.

"Hi, Ben," I said as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hey, J.D." I could hear the smile in his voice. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," I replied. The table was now on my chest, which was fairly uncomfortable. "Found my stethoscope. How're you?"

Dr. Cox appeared over me, his arms folded over his chest. "Get up," he said darkly, and I did.

Ben looked at him, now peeling the paper off his new photo. "How do you stretch your 'g's out that way?" he asked. "I mean, no one should be able to do that, but you always manage. How is that?"

Dr. Cox didn't look at him. He just kept glaring at me. Trying not to notice, I grabbed my stethoscope off the ground and slung it around my neck. "Can't tell you how nice it is to see you, Gina," he said, "but if you're finished with Table Olympics which, by the way, you're coming away from with about four gold medals, wouldja mind swanning yourself away? The Decathlon's about to start and the Gatorade ain't gonna hand itself out."

Sheesh. Does he plan these speeches? I wonder sometimes if he sits up nights writing them; they just seem to be sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting for me to do or say something, anything, so that he can let them loose. I started to reply, but Ben beat me to it. "Lighten up," he said. "Say, let's ask him about this."

"Oh, oh, let's absolutely not," said Dr. Cox. Ben seemed to ignore him.

"So, J.D., what do you think? Do you think I'd make a good godfather to Jordan's kid?"

"Yeah," I said immediately. "What, they don't want you to?"

I swear that Dr. Cox's glare was audible, like a laser beam in a science fiction movie. "No," said Ben. "Or, Jordan won't talk about it and Perry won't answer, so I really just assume that it's no." He lowered his voice and continued in a stage whisper. "I think Perry here just expects that I won't be around long enough to make a difference."

I stood frozen to the spot. Ben had said it casually enough; it had clearly been a joke. But one look at Dr. Cox told me that what Ben had said had been one hundred percent correct. I couldn't think of someone who'd be a better godfather than Ben, but Dr. Cox wanted someone who'd be a more permanent fixture. Someone who wasn't so clumsy, or wasn't so sick.

Someone who didn't have leukemia.

Ben sat on the edge of the bed, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort and Dr. Cox's anger. "I think you should name the kid after me," he went on.

I managed to break out of my impression of a statue. "What if it's a girl?"

Ben shrugged. "These are modern times. 'Ben' might make a good name for a girl. Hey, her mom's name is Jordan."

Dr. Cox's voice was flat, as though he were trying desperately to sound casual. "It's really very sweet for you to think that you're that important," he said. "We haven't chosen a name yet. Jordan seems to be leaning toward Ashtaroth, King Of Dark Places."

I nodded. "That's beautiful."

"Kinda long, though," said Ben thoughtfully. "Would you call him Ash?"

"Or King," I volunteered. "King's a nice nickname."

"Look," Dr. Cox began, but Carla's voice interrupted him. She was leaning in the doorway, looking frazzled, but still managing to recover quite nicely after Ben snapped her picture.

"Dr. Cox, they need you in Curtain Three," she said quickly, and zoomed away. Without looking at either of us, Dr. Cox jammed his hands into the pocket of his coat and walked swiftly out of the room, leaving Ben and me to stand in semi-awkward silence as I tried to think of something to say. I could make my excuses and leave, or I could wait here with him for Dr. Cox to come back. Did he still want my opinion?

Ben was still sitting on the edge of the bed, now drumming his hands on his thighs. The camera was hanging askew around his neck, and the pictures of me and Carla were faceup next to him. The one of Carla was actually kind of flattering - the light had caught her face at a nice angle - but the one of me looked, of course, ridiculous. It looked like the table had leapt out from behind a bush and beat me into submission.

"He's not wrong," said Ben suddenly. He scratched his neck, looking at the floor. "I mean, I do have ...y'know, cancer. What good am I as a godfather if I'm dead?"

"That's a little morbid," I replied uncomfortably.

Ben shrugged and his eyes met mine. "Not exactly. It's realistic. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, but I can see his point." He laid back, his hands laced behind his head. "I'd be a good choice, though. A great choice. I'd teach that kid everything I knew. Like how to drill a hole through your own leg."

"That's a handy skill," I said. "Look, Dr. Cox will come around."

"You think?"

"I do." I wasn't entirely sure, but I thought I'd try optimism. "You're Dr. Cox's best friend, so I can't imagine him picking someone else. If it's not going to be you, the kid probably won't have a godfather."

"I wonder," said Ben quietly. He stood up and adjusted the camera around his neck. "Thanks, J.D. When you see Perry, tell him he can call if he needs me." He clapped me on the shoulder, ticked a salute off his forehead with his index finger, and was gone. As I turned to go, I saw that he'd left the photographs behind.

 

 

 


End file.
